Il Profumo del Mio Paradiso
by Vagabonda
Summary: Ambitious and arrogant, Father Edward Masen cuts a deal with the Devil. A Twilight/The Thorn Birds mashup.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Twilight** belongs to Stephenie Meyer and **The Thorn Birds** is the work of the late Colleen McCullough. Original characters/subplots are mine. For purposes of this story, a few decades have been lopped off **The** **Thorn Birds.** Fear not, those characters lost in the cut have been incorporated into other characters. And that's about all I can say without spilling the beans.

* * *

 ** _Il Profumo del Mio Paradiso_**

 _Book 1 - Aro_

Prologue

 _April 1964_

 _Campo Santo Teutonico_

 _Vatican City_

Aro Cardinal Volterà cloaked himself amid the shadows cast by the ancient cloister that allowed entry into the small cemetery. The fierce Roman summer arrived early this year: the stifling heat baking the bricks of the _Campo's_ walls to such a degree that the statuary and palm trees of the graveyard seemed to be undulating toward him in a vulgar dance—their shimmering sways taunting him to step out of the cool darkness and into the blinding light. Aro closed his eyes to the vision before him, stilling the urge to reveal himself too soon.

 _Aspetta, Aro! Pazienza! Wait, Aro! Patience!_

He knew to wait for the proper moment to act as timing was the most important tool in any seduction. Ill-timed words or actions, regardless of any subtle nuance, lost their power to persuade. And without persuasion, there could be no seduction, and if a seduction failed, there would be no surrender of power.

 _Surrender._

His hands clenched in greed—oh, how he wanted this man's surrender.

Nothing was more exquisite to Aro than the admission of a shamefully dark secret, the acknowledgment of an obscenity, a base behavior yielded to him with complete confidence and trust. Aro suppressed a contemptuous sigh. _Such naive fools!_ Did they really believe that he would not use their actions against them? That he would not take that delicious power for himself? These were not sins offered by a penitent under the Seal of Confession; they were secrets given up in a seduction, in a complete surrender— _to him_.

 _Ah, surrender._

Aro paused and allowed a brief shudder of delight to course through him at the thought of this penitent's submission … of the consummate surrender of this man.

 _Pazienza, Aro, pazienza! Patience, Aro, Patience!_

Now in his sixty-sixth year, the old cardinal long ago had perfected his ability to find weakness and exploit it to his purpose. Aro understood human nature all too well—even those who seemingly radiated only goodness and light had some element of darkness hidden away, and Aro Volterà was nothing short of masterful in seducing the darkest of secrets from his subjects. How else would a person such as himself, a peasant by birth, with his stunted height and hawkish features, have achieved such stature and power in life? Was he not wearing the red biretta bestowed upon him by a grateful Church, in acknowledgment of his talents? Did she not reward his financial acumen with a seat on the board of the Vatican Bank?

Aro was forced to press his fingers to his mouth, smothering the chortle of glee that threatened to escape his lips— _si, il Gambero_ had done quite well for himself.

The old cardinal's thoughts returned to the object of his current seduction. Once again, and not without some difficulty, Aro had to compose himself; his lack of control was uncharacteristic but given the subject, not entirely unexpected. Just the thought of this singular man had caused Aro's mouth to water.

The air was increasingly close, and the humidity was just short of suffocation. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. What was a bit of suffering the day's heat when compared to the possibility— _no,_ _certainty_ —of claiming such an ultimately exquisite reward? Aro smiled to himself. Just the thought of a beautiful and broken Edward Masen, supplicant, giving him entry into the darkest corners of his soul, shamefully whispering secrets to him that would shock even the most seasoned of confessors, sent shivers of delight down his truncated spine.

Arranging his features into a pious and benevolent mask, Aro stepped from the shadows and descended into the _Campo,_ gliding towards the Archbishop of Sydney.

* * *

 **A/N:** This story would have not been written had it not been for the **Babies at the Border** compilation, so many thanks to **Jeannie Boom** and **Consuelo Hernandez**. The beautiful artwork is the creation of **IpsitaC77** and **Pa Trizia 88**. My pre-readers are **shouldbecleaning** and **LayAtHomeMom**. **Hadley Hemingway** is my beta. I am deeply humbled that these wonderful women came on board to work with me-my gratitude towards them holds no bounds. Thank you, ladies. All mistakaes are mine.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

" _Take the yoke of the Lord, for His yoke is sweet and His burden light."_

Aro Volterà was born in the summer of 1898 to a farmer in Asiago, one of the picturesque villages that dusted the foothills of the Dolomites. His father, Ferruccio, was said to be a decent but brutally ugly man, who died shortly after Aro's birth when an irate cow kicked a fatal blow to his head.

Aro's mother, Fiammetta di Tomasi, was a true Venetian beauty. Born to one of the older families in Valviso, she would have been married off easily had tragedy not struck during her birth: Fiammetta was born with her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. The oxygen deprivation she suffered rendered her just short of imbecilic.

Upon their discovery of Fiammetta's idiocy, her parents would have immediately given her to the Sisters of Mercy to raise had she not been such a beautiful baby. As it was, superstitions ran rampant in the town, and the gossips never ceased in their speculation as to the sins the di Tomasis must have committed to elicit such vengeance from God. It was nothing short of blasphemous to all of them that such beauty had been paired with profound emptiness.

Aware of the gossip and secretly harboring their own shame in having produced such a witless child, it made perfect sense to the di Tomasis that Fiammetta be raised by those who answered God's call. But her _nonna_ would not hear of it. Cursing the foolishness of her own son and daughter-in-law, the old woman took the toddler under her wing to raise. Fiammetta was a blessing to the widowed woman. Caring for her granddaughter gave Nonna di Tomasi's life purpose again, and she doted on the child.

As Fiammetta grew, her family came to the realization that the girl was not a complete idiot. She could follow simple instructions, but she lacked the ability to think for herself, having no sense of judgment or curiosity. Neither of her parents could see any potential in Fiammetta, so they wasted none of their attention on their daughter. But Nonna di Tomasi saw her granddaughter differently.

With endless patience and persistence, Nonna di Tomasi trained Fiammetta to tug on the sleeve of the old woman's dress when the girl felt physically uncomfortable: an urgent pull of the sleeve indicated Fiammetta needed to relieve herself. It was only then, when there was some assurance that Fiammetta would not openly soil herself and embarrass the family, that Fiammetta's parents agreed that she could be seen in public. They suggested to her _nonna_ that the girl be taken out on market days, as between the odors of the peasant foods and the stench of the animals, should Fiammetta forget to tug, any accident would most likely go undetected.

On those days her family deemed suitable, young Fiammetta could be seen guided around the merchant stalls, her hand held tightly by her _nonna_ , her stunning beauty crippled by a perpetually vacant expression. It was a genuine sadness for the small town, and Fiammetta's appearance on market days was always met with murmurs of " _Poveretta, poveretta. Poor thing, poor thing."_

Under the loving tutelage of her _nonna_ , by the time Fiammetta entered her teenage years, she was able to assemble a simple meal of bread and cheese. But even then, the poor girl had to be repeatedly reminded of the task at hand, and she required constant supervision.

Rather than taking pride in Fiammetta's little victories, her parents became increasingly discomfited by the way Nonna di Tomasi acted as if the girl was normal, acceptable. The di Tomasis, so fixated on appearances, never gave thought as to what would happen to Fiammetta when her _nonna_ was no longer able to care for the girl. To them, it was a distant circumstance they refused to acknowledge was inevitable.

In was in the early summer of 1897 that Fiammetta's _nonna_ took ill, and the di Tomasis confirmed they had neither the time, patience, nor goodwill to devote to their empty-headed daughter. Her father was deeply concerned; her mother was in a full-blown panic. Fiammetta had matured, and her parents worried that without the constant chaperone of Nonna di Tomasi, the girl might fall into behaviors that would further shame the family. At the bedside of her _nonna_ , more rosaries were said in an appeal for mercy regarding the di Tomasi's plight with Fiammetta than were said for the soul of the old woman _._

 _ **~IPdMP~**_

When word of the imminent death of Nonna di Tomasi reached Asiago, Ferruccio Volterà's ears perked up.

Ferruccio Volterà was by birth a bastard and by the age of nine, an orphan. But unlike the townspeople of Valviso, the farmers of Asiago took it upon themselves to see to his welfare, for they thought the ugly boy to be gifted by God.

His mother, Domenica, had been a dairy worker, aiding in the making of cheese. She adored her gnome-like son, and he had been a constant fixture at her side. She would often feed Ferruccio samples of the various types of cheese, asking for his opinions as to their taste. To the surprise of the farmers, the young boy had the ability to discern subtle changes in the aging foods.

With one bite, Ferruccio could immediately determine if a bitter cheese was lacking whey or was over-salted. His sense of smell was extraordinary as well; Ferruccio need only sniff the dung of an ill animal once and be able to diagnose what ailed the creature. While he became indispensable to the farming community, they still continued to recoil at the sight of the stunted, odd-looking boy holding cow dung up to his nose.

Upon Domenica's untimely death, the farmers held counsel as to where the boy would live. While they were fond of Ferruccio, and he was an asset to their livelihood, no one really wanted the ugly dung-sniffer in either their home or in their barns. He was too young to live on his own, so an appeal was made to Monsignor Pezzin, the middle-aged cleric who shepherded the people of Asiago. The monsignor was a compassionate man who truly tended to his flock with unconditional love, and in return, he was beloved by all. He agreed at once to take in the orphaned boy—there was more than enough room in the inn for this child. For the first time in his life, Ferruccio had a bed and room of his own.

 _ **~IPdMP~**_

The Church of San Matteo was Ferruccio's home for the next eight years. During the day, he worked diligently at the dairy farms, sniffing and tasting, for which he was paid a pittance. His nights were spent cleaning the church and rectory until they were spotless. On Sundays and Holy Days, or when an alarm needed to be sounded, Ferruccio would ring the church bells. The beautiful tones of the _campane_ , the chimes of God, never failed to elevate his spirit.

Not once did Ferruccio complained about his lot in life. He had long ago recognized that his appearance forfeited any right to what many took for granted—a family he could call his own. Rather than decry his circumstances, Ferruccio had chosen to fully embrace the blessings of God and simply accept the hardships of his life: Ferruccio Volterà would be known as a taster of cheese and sniffer of dung, and for that, he gave thanks.

 _ **~IPdMP~**_

On his seventeenth birthday, Ferruccio took all his savings and with the blessing of the monsignor, left the Church of San Matteo. One of the poorer farmers had decided to leave Asiago and seek other work in one of the larger cities. He offered his little sad farm with its two sickly cows for sale to Ferruccio, who immediately bought it. It was the first and only house he would ever call home.

Ferruccio spent the next five years working without a break. In addition to tending his little farm, he continued to work with the dairy farmers, tasting and sniffing. Ferruccio took it as a gesture of great respect that his advice was always taken. It made him feel of some worth, being able to aid the townspeople who had seen to his welfare.

Of all his responsibilities, Ferruccio was most devoted to cleaning the Church of San Matteo. Religiously, he polished the marble floors and swept the wooden confessional. Joyfully, he rang the _campane,_ now wearing a pair of goatskin gloves the monsignor had given him in gratitude for his years of service at the church. He had been truly touched by this particular gift, for Ferruccio considered himself indebted to the monsignor for the shelter the Church had provided a young boy in his hour of need. The gloves held such a special place in his heart that Ferruccio refused to use them to pick up cow dung; he would rather continue to scrub the excrement from under his nails than defile the gloves that held the _campane's_ rope.

One day, the farmers approached Ferruccio with an opportunity to earn more money by marketing their cheese to the neighboring towns; Ferruccio was flattered by the offer.

Now aged twenty-two, he had reached his adult height of a few inches over five feet, and the labor he devoted to all his responsibilities had given him a great strength that radiated from his appearance. Ferruccio understood he looked ugly and intimidating, and though the townspeople knew that perception to be far from the truth, no one thought the dung-sniffer to be husband material.

That night, after he had swept the floors of the church clean, Ferruccio put several hard-earned _lire_ in the votive box and lit a candle. He was grateful for the many blessings God had given him, so Ferruccio paused before offering up his prayer. He hesitated to ask for something from God that may deem him to be a greedy man, but he was lonely. Ferruccio prayed that night for a woman to willingly warm his bed.

 _ **~IPdMP~**_

Ferruccio had seen the young girl with her _nonna_ on those days when he came to market in her town. On occasion, the old woman, with her granddaughter firmly in hand, would come to peruse his stall; he always offered both generous samples of his products as a gesture of respect and gratitude.

Nonna di Tomasi was one of the few townspeople who never shied away from his ugliness. She would feed Fiammetta samples of the cheeses he offered, and turning her granddaughter to face him, the old woman would whisper in her ear, "It is very good, yes?" to which Fiammetta would parrot back to Ferruccio, "It is very good, yes?"

Both his heart and cock always swelled hearing Fiammetta's response—for even though the beautiful girl lacked enough of a brain to form a coherent thought, Ferruccio found her to be the purest soul he had ever encountered. He was certain that God had answered his prayer, for Ferruccio had correctly surmised if this lovely girl could not tell the difference between good and bad, neither would she be able to judge his appearance as well. He could truthfully tell her, "You are beautiful too," and she would always truthfully answer back to him, to ugly Ferruccio, "You are beautiful too."

 _ **~IPdMP~**_

Fiammetta's parents wept in relief when the peasant farmer, Ferruccio Volterà, approached the family to ask for Fiammetta's hand in marriage. In truth, her father did not need to hear Ferruccio plead his love and devotion for Fiammetta—the man could have her, as far as he was concerned. Nonna di Tomasi had just been buried, and amid the family's grief, God had delivered to them someone who was not only willing to accept the burden of Fiammetta's care but could do so in another village. So grateful were the di Tomasis to have their prayers answered, they arranged a hasty wedding, gifted Ferruccio with a dowry of one thousand _lire_ , and within days, Fiammetta Volterà was headed to her new home in Asiago.

 _ **~IPdMP~**_

Ferruccio had not expected to win Fiammetta's hand so easily, but he knew not to question the ways of God. For Ferruccio was horrified at the way Fiammetta's family viewed her—even he, in all his ugliness, hadn't been treated as if he were a senseless animal. He had been well aware that Fiammetta was limited, but he had also seen how she responded when in the company of her _nonna_. It was obvious to him that a bond existed between the old woman and her granddaughter—Fiammetta was not incapable of emotion. He hoped perhaps there would come a day when the beautiful girl would feel something, _anything_ for him.

During the few days it took to arrange their wedding, Ferruccio received instructions from Fiammetta's mother regarding her daughter's care. He was incensed as Fiammetta's mother, revulsion written all over her face, told Ferruccio about Fiammetta's tugs and their meanings.

The woman held no compassion for her child at all—she complained to Ferruccio that since the death of Nonna di Tomasi, Fiammetta had become increasingly difficult to manage. He was stunned. Even during the limited time the di Tomasis allowed Fiammetta to be in his presence, Ferruccio had recognized the emotion in her—she was _grieving_. He offered a silent prayer that God give him the grace to get his beloved Fiammetta away from her callous family before he killed one of them.

When the time came to take their vows, Fiammetta stood beside Ferruccio in the little chapel that abutted the family cemetery. Dressed in white, but without a veil, Fiammetta repeated the words her mother whispered in her ear, "Say, yes, I do, say yes, I do." Ferruccio closed his eyes and once again asked God for patience. He had no idea how much _lire_ the di Tomasis had parted with to pay off the priest and notary, but of one thing he was certain—no one was going to object to this marriage.

It was at Ferruccio's suggestion that he and Fiammetta spend their wedding night in Nonna di Tomasi's bedroom. If the di Tomasis thought that odd, they made no mention. Ferruccio felt Fiammetta would be calmer surrounded by her _nonna's_ belongings, and he was right. He watched as his wife, curled up on a pile of towels and clutching her _nonna's_ Madonna, rocked herself to sleep, chanting, " _Nonna, Nonna, Nonna."_ Ferruccio wept, not for himself, for he knew Fiammetta would have a better life with him; no, Ferruccio wept the tears of grief Fiammetta was unable to shed for her grandmother.

The next morning, Ferruccio packed his little buggy with all of Fiammetta's belongings. It did not escape him that the girl had little in the way of gifts from her family that one would expect to be given to a newly married daughter. As he helped his wife into the seat beside him, she became agitated, and as the buggy began to move, Fiammetta called for her grandmother.

" _Nonna!"_

"Go, go—just leave, Ferruccio; she'll calm down," said her father, aware of the crowd of onlookers who had gathered to see Fiammetta's departure.

But Fiammetta's agitation just grew. " _Nonna, Nonna!"_

"Go, ignore the girl, and just leave, leave now!" her father insisted.

But Ferruccio looked at Fiammetta and halted the jackass.

"Where is the Madonna? Nonna di Tomasi's Madonna?" he asked. "Is it packed with her clothing?"

Fiammetta's father became indignant. "No, of course not—it was my mother's Madonna. What does Fiammetta need with a Madonna? She does not even understand God."

Ferruccio looked at his in-laws and forcing every bit of compassion from his heart, tersely related the events of his wedding night. The di Tomasis stood in stunned embarrassment, that this grotesque man was chastising them with truths they would never admit to themselves.

In a quiet voice containing a cold contemptuousness that even shocked himself, Ferruccio said, "It does not surprise me that you would not know this because you have never been loving parents to Fiammetta; the only love she has ever known came from her _nonna._ I will ask this one thing of you, and you need never worry about Fiammetta again—in the name of God, _in the name of God_ , I ask you to go get the Madonna and give it to the one person for whom it means love."

Within minutes, Fiammetta was clutching the Madonna, visibly calming down. Without a backward glance at the di Tomasis or Valviso, Ferruccio tugged the reins on the jackass and headed out with his bride towards Asiago.

* * *

All quotes cited in Chapters 1 through 6 are from the Rite of Ordination, Canons Regular of St. John Cantius. _Missale Romanum 1962_. Canons Regular of St. John Cantius, 2018

 **A/N:** The terms used to describe Fiammetta's disability were true to the times of this story, and in no way are meant to be offensive or injurious to the reader.

I owe a debt of gratitude to **IpsitaC77** and **Pa Trizia 88** for the beautiful banners, **Pa Trizia 88** for the translations, **shouldbecleaning** and **LayAtHomeMom** for pre-reading, and **Hadley Hemingway** for her beta skills. All mistakes are mine.


End file.
